


the fallacy of forgiveness

by screechfox



Series: Author's Favourites [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Lotus Eater Machine, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Season/Series 04, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 15:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: Jon is dreaming, he just doesn't know it yet.





	the fallacy of forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> since i started writing for TMA i have wanted to write some jon/tim, but i cannot believe that _this_ is my first addition to the collection. apologies in advance.

Jon wakes to the feeling of someone lying next to him, their fingers rubbing warm circles into the palms of his hands. They’re making gentle sounds of comfort, and it takes Jon long moments to identify that voice; it feels like such a long time since he last heard it.

“... Tim?”

Through the faint moonlight streaming into the room, Jon can make out Tim grinning widely. His teeth are the colour of porcelain, Jon finds himself thinking, strangely disoriented.

“Back in the waking world, are we?”

“This isn’t right.” Any urgency in Jon’s tone is muted by how tired his voice is, sleep still clinging like cobwebs. “Tim, you’re— you’re not…” Jon furrows his brow. Something is wrong, but he can’t remember _ what. _

Tim’s grin fades into an expression of concern. His hands are so soft against Jon’s.

“It was just a dream, okay? None of it was real.”

“I— But—” The anxiety slips through Jon’s fingers as the waking world settles in around him. The fact that Tim leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek— well, that helps too. 

“I know you’re not big on unexpected touching,” Tim says, almost apologetic, “but I thought that might get you out of your stupor. Even if it put you in another one,” he adds with a rakish wink.

“It’s— it’s fine.” The words come out on reflex, but Jon realises the truth of them as soon as they leave his mouth. It _ is _ fine. He takes a few long, slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. “I must have woken you up.”

Tim smiles, pulling one of Jon’s hands up to press a kiss to that too. Always the charmer, even at what must be three in the morning.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sleeping well. Long day at work today.”

“You didn’t say.” Jon tries to keep the accusation out of his voice, but by the way Tim’s face shifts in the dark, he isn’t entirely successful. It seems like they’re about to have a capital-T _ Talk. _

Sighing, Jon reaches over to switch on the light by their bed. The world is a blur, and it sends Jon’s thoughts into another whirl of disoriented panic before he remembers to reach for his glasses. Given how bad his eyesight is _ (it isn’t, he hasn’t needed his glasses since he woke up from the coma) _ it was stupid of him to forget, really.

“Nothing that interesting, I promise. Just— publishing can be stressful sometimes.”

“Right. Of course.”

Tim reaches out with a soft smile. Jon shuffles closer, cherishing the feeling of being held, safe and warm. He practically melts as Tim’s free hand begins to run through the tangles of his hair, working through every knot with gentle precision.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I know you get stressed when I’m stressed, and I didn’t want you to work yourself up over nothing.”

“Looks like I’m managing that well enough by myself.” Jon laughs without humour.

“Was the nightmare that bad?” There’s something odd in Tim’s tone, and Jon tries to ignore it — he’s spent so much of his life overthinking things, and sometimes it isn’t worth it.

“It was— I don’t remember,” Jon admits. Somehow, the lack of recollection feels like a failure on his part. “I think you were—”

“Shh. It wasn’t real. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

“You said that when we went kayaking,” Jon mutters, though the memory is like a dream in and of itself. “I’m never getting in a boat with you again.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got skinny arms.”

“These are the arms of an academic,” Jon says, with a haughtiness that even _ he _ knows is overblown. It makes Tim laugh, which feels good, except… Jon can’t remember what he’s an academic _ of. _ There are books, he thinks, and half-remembered debates about the convenience of digital formats, so— Literature, must be. Yes, that sounds about right.

Behind him, the tension is fading from Tim’s muscles, and Jon lets himself follow suit. There’s something anchoring about Tim’s presence. He holds Jon in place and keeps him from drifting.

“Do you want to give sleep another go? You know how Martin fusses if you go into work tired.”

“I…” 

With a panicked inhale like a drowning man, Jon drags himself out of Tim’s arms.

There’s something on the edge of his awareness — _ like a grain of sand behind his eye, _ Jon thinks, and can’t quite recall why the words are so familiar to his tongue. Something is desperately wrong.

“Jon?”

Jon’s eyes dart across the room and across his own unblemished skin and across the surface of his thoughts, and suddenly, he _ realises. _

“Tim,” Jon says slowly, praying that he’s just gone mad. “What happened to your brother?”

For a moment, Tim goes still, mannequin stuff and just as pale.

“What, Danny?” Tim’s tone is jovial, but his eyes are glassy and unblinking. “Last I heard, he was road-tripping across the States.”

Shit. _ That’s _ what’s wrong.

“Tim, your brother’s been dead since before we met.”

Tim freezes again, but Jon keeps talking. The words flow from his lips in a way he can’t quite control, and every one of them is true and terrible.

“You’ve been dead for a year. Even if you weren’t, you _ hate _ me. You hate what I am but you hate me as well, and I deserve every bit of it.”

Jon _ sees. _ He sees the anger roiling below the surface of that painted-on mask of concern. Tim opens his mouth, and Jon doesn’t hesitate to interrupt.

“This is all fake. You’re not real.” Somehow, this epiphany is a relief.

“Jon, come on. Everything will make sense in the morning.”

“No,” Jon says, with all the force he can muster. The air around him feels charged with something he can’t name. Tim flinches away from his stare. “No, none of this is right.”

Jon can feel the way the world — the dream? — is trying to tug him back into place. It only needs to push his thoughts and memories slightly sideways to keep him occupied, keep him happy with the reality that he’s been presented with. Everything is hazy, and Jon is caught between two extremes.

_ (The Spiral? The Web? The Stranger? Jon doesn’t remember the words to categorise this experience, but something in the back of his mind is trying anyway.) _

“Just sleep, Jon.”

It comes down to this. Jon’s mind isn’t his own, but Jon is the Archivist as well, and the Archivist sees through the lies that are told to him. The Archivist _ knows _ the truth, even if he doesn’t remember it.

“I won’t settle for this, Tim. You didn’t.”

Tim laughs, acid-tongued.

“I couldn’t, could I? I tried to settle for less, to get as far away as I could, but that’s not what the real world is. The real world is _ awful.” _ Tim looks so very tired. It’s Jon’s fault, just like it is every other time Tim has that expression — _ had _ that expression, Jon reminds himself.

“Then I think the real world and I deserve one another,” Jon mutters. His head hurts.

“Out there, you’re nothing but one of the Eye’s monsters,” Tim says, with the first hint of familiar viciousness Jon has heard from him since waking up. It’s another awful relief. “How long do you think you can starve yourself for, boss? How long are you going to last?”

“I—” This, Jon doesn’t have an answer for.

Tim’s expression softens, and he reaches for Jon. Despite everything, Jon lets Tim pull him close again. Tim is solid and warm, and Jon has felt so alone these past few months.

“Come on, Jon. Stay here. We’re meeting Sasha tomorrow, aren’t we? Making her jealous.”

Jon opens his mouth to protest that he can’t, that he has people to get back to. He has to keep an eye on Peter Lukas, he has to find a way to help Daisy, he has to figure out what the Web wants from him, and— so much more.

“I’ll starve here,” is what comes out instead, the pitiful whine of an animal in pain.

“You’ll waste away,” Tim agrees, with knife-edge sympathy. “But I’ll look after you through all the pain. Or Martin, or Sasha, or whoever else you want to love you. You can’t hurt anyone here.”

_ There are worse cages to be trapped in, _ Jon thinks. He can’t tell if it’s his own thought, or something placed there by whatever put him here in the first place. Whichever it is, it’s _ true. _ Starving to death in the real world would be a hell of a lot less pleasant than it would be here.

And yet, Jon can’t stay.

It’s a moment of weakness, perhaps, that leads Jon to pull Tim into a lingering kiss, pressing everything left unspoken into the warmth of skin on skin. Tim kisses back, soft and gentle, with no hint of tongue or teeth or anything messy. Just the way Jon prefers. All he can do is catalogue — _ archive _ — every awful, perfect detail of this pretend comfort.

As he pulls back, breathing heavily, it feels like his heart is being carved out of his chest. Tim is flushed, and there’s a quiet victory on his face.

“Stay,” he says, in the tone of ‘I love you’. “Forget. It’s better here.”

Jon swallows down the tender human part of him that wants to do just that.

“I’m sorry, Tim. But I know you. And you’re _ not real.” _

Bit by bit, the world fades around them; ashes to dust to nothing at all.

“I forgive you,” Tim hisses, vindictive, and Jon wakes — _ really _ wakes — knowing just how much of a lie that is.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> you can find me at [screechfoxes](https://screechfoxes.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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